


All the fullness of the world is yours

by it_was_so_human



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_was_so_human/pseuds/it_was_so_human
Summary: Does your brother love you enough to save you? Or will he feed you to the flames himself?





	All the fullness of the world is yours

_“You stand accused of treason against your Queen, Sansa Stark of Winterfell.”_  
  
She never wanted to return to King’s Landing.  
  
A childhood of craving Southern courts and dreaming of her one-day prince. Bemoaning her harsh Northern home.    
  
Only to never want to leave the walls of what remained of her Winterfell.  
  
Yet she is called to court.  _Summoned_. 

Surrounded by armed soldiers with no desire to protect her. Is made to stand in front of their Queen.

Their breaker of chains and liberator from tyrants who burned women and children until they were little more than wisps of snow.  
  
Made to stand in front of the Dragon Queen sitting on the Iron Throne she feverishly coveted. 

(And stand she does, tall and proud and  _every inch_  the Stark she has always been.) 

((Prepared for her to declare that Sansa Stark is to become little more ash.))

Is this where Sansa’s journey would end? In the city where crowds cried traitor at her father? 

Stupid little girl she had been, she had begged for him to confess to save his life. A futile effort, that.

(Did her brother Robb blame her? Did her mother? She would lie awake at night, fearing they would never come for her if they knew. Cried in the walls of this castle she hated so much. A prison she almost died so very many times in.) 

The Dragon Queen however does not stand her in front of a crowd. Does not want the whispers of a secret possible heir.

The very same heir that now stands by the side of her throne.

The heir who is Sansa’s only remaining family. Once yet again.   
  
Arya had left, gone from Westeros. 

Bran was not truly of this world.

Once more, it is just Jon. (Just as that sweet day they reunited at The Wall.) 

But his silence tells her she does not have him either.

She will not bow, will not plead. Will not lie or concoct stories. 

There’s nothing new about a Stark standing in front of a Targaryen after all, burned by their madness

Her grandfather and uncle died here. Saving their beloved Lyanna. 

(But she is no one’s beloved. No one to save her.) 

“I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. The Lady or Winterfell. The North remembers, and it will remember this.”

“Your Northern army lay as much siege as my dragons, Lady Sansa. Your armies are mine.”

 _Your brother, mine._  
  
Her stomach churns, the great defenders of her home pillaged a dying city.

But defending is what the North has proven time and again to do best.

“The wheel will never break now. The North  _will_  remember. Your father lost his throne by burning my grandfather and uncle. Burning a Stark, it has its consequences.”

She had thought carefully the words she could say, strategies she could carve. 

But there truly are none. What  _strategy_  to employ against a woman who took thousands of innocents in a surrendering city?

And she is so tired. 

Gods, old and new, she was  _tired_. 

She felt more ancient than a weirwood. 

(Perhaps she too had truly died long ago, but was left standing. A punishment for her crimes of youthful folly.) 

Her bones ached and her heart in a million pieces, shattered.

“Do you have any last words then, Sansa Stark of Winterfell?” was delivered with the most sardonic of smile.

The Queen’s cruel humor will not be the last thing she sees. 

How can she protect her people from this. Is it possible to protect them from  _this_?

Jon might fear her, but she will not.

She would go strong, go the way she begged her father not to.

“If my death is a part in bringing the end of your reign, Daenerys Targaryen, I welcome it.”

There is relief in this. In knowing. 

She would die here then. In this land that was not hers or of her.

She doesn’t want to look at him, the man by the Queen’s side, but she does. 

A familiar sight at least. Of home. 

She had hoped that there could be a good man on the throne, one truly honorable. (She was not wrong to hope.) 

One who she felt the North could be safe with. (That she felt safe with.) 

She had warned him. Had warned him time and time again. But Sansa was shrugged off as just bitter and ungrateful and shortsighted. 

And he was just fool in love who would disown his family.  
  
His jaw is stiff and his eyes so very cold as he stands there. 

She knows him.  _She knew him at least._

But perhaps not. 

Jon Snow, was not truly her brother. Not truly of the North despite seeming the most Northern of them all.

Not the Stark she claimed him as. Did he choose his true family then? 

(Is he the blood of old Valyria then, not of the North?) 

She had fought and clawed to safety, but was to never truly be safe. Not when away from Winterfell.

Not when the choices of men took precedent. Men enchanted by beauty and bright doe eyes that now held a manic that Sansa could not possibly decipher. 

“Do you have anything to say on behalf of your sister, Jon Snow?”

She had heard Tyrion Lannister had begged his Queen to reconsider, but no word of protest came from the man she had thought once brother.

He cared naught, then. 

(Can a heart break into a million more pieces? Was it possible?)

If that is it, then so be it. Let him look her in the eyes when passing judgement. 

_(But she knows him. She does.)_

So as she finally meets his eyes, she finds they are not cold after all—they are burning. Bright and hot. 

_(Know him she does.)_

And she sees a soft sad smile on his face,

“No, my Queen. My sister will get everything she deserves.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- Hi friends! It’s been a very long time! This show is trash. This story I wrote last night at 2am in fifteen minutes is trash. I am trash! 
> 
> (I promise to edit this soon.)


End file.
